


Ghost in my Lungs, Monster in my Head

by deathwailart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Relationships, Masturbation, Mind Rape, Multi, Really not sure how to tag this correctly, Spoilers, Symbiotic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the AC kink meme.  Prompt: Desmond's not dead, Juno has just developed a symbiotic relationship with him.</p>
<p>And she likes to touch him. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost in my Lungs, Monster in my Head

This is not the outcome she hoped for. _Beggars can't be choosers_ , his human - well, not quite - mind replies and she rails at it, hissing. It will serve until she can beat down his defences for there cannot be much that holds him together now, a mind already fractured from the machine and memories that swirl, memories she likes to replay when he tries to sleep. Everything is more vivid for her and so she likes to make him remember Lucy, little traitor to the cause, his hidden blade puncturing her soft flesh, golden glow all around them. Desmond pushes back and if he weren't so beneath her she would be impressed at his ability to fight back despite all he has gone through. After all, they were built to survive and survive he has. He has forced a third option. Too much for Desmond to do as expected or as he is told.  
  
She is very much in the backseat here. She can work with that.  
  
In moments she has control but her potential is limited. Still she must learn how to use this body that lacks her sixth sense (the eyes, oh she likes to play with those, pushing and pushing until this fragile flesh stumbles into his father or friends) and when he is quiet, she gets to work. Sensations from the outside world are dull because these are not her fingers, not her skin, not her blood. Instead she feels through him. The ache in the small of his back from the animus sessions, the constant twinge of a tension headache radiating in a tight band from temple to temple across his skull and down his neck, the conflict within him at weighing up doing the right thing against the goals of the Order.  
  
_Let me take control,_ she whispers - croons, imagines herself wrapped around him, not mother and child, not lovers but something - to his mind as it falls to drowsiness. He is always so tired. So young, so weary. They were not weary long ago, the first of them before the tragedy. Oh they were worked but their minds were held tight when what they call Pieces of Eden were held out before them. This one though, he is so very tired. _Let me play my part as I said I would, your part is done, should be done._

_Shut up and let me sleep for fuck's sake! How many times do we have to have this argument in my own fucking head?_ He is so rude to her when he should know better. He tells jokes about her to the one named Shaun and if she could she would throttle the life out of that arrogant little beast before the dark-haired woman who always has hands poised, fingers twitching for even away from her keyboard. Desmond shares a body with something his mind can barely comprehend.  
  
_You would not be so weary Desmond if you let yourself go, curled up and rested. You never wanted this life. Let me in._

_You're already in,_ way _more in that I'm comfortable with._  
  
It's 'said' with what he views as some sort of finality. He should know better.  
  
His fingers twitch. He fights but he's tired and in these moments more malleable and she commands the fingers to pull off the t-shirt and hoodie he wears, to kick off his shoes, wriggle out of the socks. The weapon is allowed for there are always some necessities and should something harm this form she does not know what that will mean for her - she is not frightened, not she, she blames being bound to this little body that has suffered traumas all too often.  
  
_Don't._ A short, simple plea. A plea she ignores.  
  
His hands guided by her will - their hands, she likes to think in such moments - move down his chest. Part of her is still jarred at the unfamiliar planes of smooth hard muscle, the lack of curves, the hair beneath the navel, the sharp dips of his hips so she remembers Aita. Aita she killed as she made him kill Lucy. His toes curl. The jeans are pushed down. A hand beneath the underwear to grip flesh that is familiar and unfamiliar all at once. She learns to chase the sensations, peering into his mind as she does so, their hand moving as the other spreads out across his chest to feel the increasing beat of his heart.  
  
_Monitoring your vitals, Rebecca would be so pleased._ It's as close to a snarl as she can muster in his head as his body starts to jerk, flesh hard now in her hand. Lucy flashes across his vision, the things he wished he could do were she not dead by his own hand. Altaïr and Maria upon a rooftop. Ezio and the many women he knew; Cristina, Rosa, Caterina, Sofia. Other nameless bodies Desmond has known, male and female, the thoughts he has now about Shaun or Rebecca or both of them. She twines herself around his mind as she strokes, his hips arching desperately, breathing ragged. His lip splits and she savours the taste of blood as he bites his lips to keep his moans quiet - he screamed in his sleep once, maybe she'll revisit that soon to keep him on his toes - until it's him on his knees worshipping her as she carries out her plans, her hand cupping his face where it's between her legs the image he sees when he comes.  
  
The aftershocks are muted. Not like her and Aita when he could make her tremble for who knows how long. His hand feels like his again, his exhausted mind dragging her down with it even as she claws, tries to hold on. She seethes, just as imprisoned within him as she was before but she tells herself she can wait, that he cannot hold her off forever. She is good at waiting when she has such plans to carry out.


End file.
